


Cordate and Entire

by brigitttt



Series: Nymph/Dryad AU [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nymph/Dryad, Anal Sex, Floor Sex, M/M, Plant Magic, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21879541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brigitttt/pseuds/brigitttt
Summary: Laurent and Damen explore the potential of dryad abilities, and get distracted in the best way. A short smut sequel to my reverse big bang fic Root, Leaf, and Stem.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Series: Nymph/Dryad AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576180
Comments: 23
Kudos: 131
Collections: Captive Prince Reverse Bang 2019





	Cordate and Entire

**Author's Note:**

> **cordate** : of the base of a leaf, like the notched part of a heart; **entire** : of the edge of a leaf, even and with a smooth margin.

Damen peeks open one eye. He’s met with the view of Laurent against a backdrop of the greenhouse plants, eyes closed and relaxed, fronds and leaves bending down from the plot behind him to brush against his golden hair, which is starting to contain little laurel leaves of its own. Damen opens both eyes.

“You’re not focussing,” Laurent says, but Damen just tilts his head and then turns it into a rolling stretch of his neck. How long have they even been sitting h– 

“It’s only been ten minutes, Damen,” Laurent sighs. “You need to be present for this to work.”

Damen glances down to the dusty tiles between them. “Don’t know how much more present there is for me to be,” he grumbles. Ever since his mother’s garden and Kastor’s attack, the aftermath of confessions and imprisonments and no time to breathe in, Laurent has been adamant that Damen is capable of the feats accomplished by any half-dryad. Of course, according to Laurent, they can only succeed with the proper application of focus on energies and spirits and what-have-you, hence the somewhat ineffectual meditation. 

This is only the first in a long list of strategies Laurent has devised in order to bring Damen’s surely-dormant powers to fruition. Damen had been helpless to deny Laurent his participation, not only because he’d looked into Laurent’s earnest eyes and found something in his chest reaching for what he saw there, but because there was a part of him that truly wondered if he really could do it. 

What might the leaves or bark, or even flowers take the form of? What would it feel like to have something brimming within your skin? How freeing would it be to feel it all bloom? What is it that Laurent must feel like? They’re compelling questions, if only Damen had the right patience for it. He stretches forward over his own crossed legs and extends his arms, straining the muscles of his back, tight from yesterday’s drills. Laurent huffs when Damen’s fingers wrap around his calves.

“A break,” Damen requests into the floor, and feels one of Laurent’s fingers trace the point of one of his knuckles like an acquiesence. The palm fronds shiver from a warm breeze that sidles through the greenhouse and Damen shifts to crawl forward along the tiles, chiton gaping where he’s bent over Laurent’s lap. He gets his kiss anyways, despite his inability to adhere to Laurent’s plan. 

Laurent always kisses him with a clear freshness, a cool touch of lips on any part of Damen’s skin. It’s a drop of water on the fever of hot clay, except clay would never push forward and seek out more as Damen does. Perhaps he is not of plant matter but instead a golem of infinite cherishing, wrapping clay mud hands around Laurent’s ribcage, hard shoulder, down his back, until Laurent is smearing his mouth onto Damen’s cheek for a breath of air, curling fingertips into the fabric now bunched at Damen’s waist.

“Just a couple minutes,” Laurent says, “and then I think we should – oh,” as Damen drifts a hand up Laurent’s now bared thigh. Damen pays little attention to how his knees are starting to complain about the hardness of the floor because he’s only just managed to tip Laurent back onto it, his hair splaying into the soil stuck in the cracks between tiles. A pale leg comes up to fold around Damen’s hip and so he grinds forward, revelling in the sweet catch of breath the motion creates, swallowing against Laurent’s lips before licking his tongue in again. 

There’s a beautiful fumbling that occurs when Laurent decides where he wants at least one of Damen’s hands to be, and then a search for oil that results in a hasty shuffling over to the nearest discarded lamp on a low bench. Damen scoops a palmful, depositing the extra onto Laurent’s stomach with only a minor noise of surprise from his lover, quickly stifled with a biting of lips when Damen circles his fingers around where Laurent wants them, pressing both teasingly and lovingly inwards. 

“Shall we not move to –” Laurent gasps, and then groans. “Ahh, the – the bed, Damen?” 

Only after finding the perfect angle inside Laurent for his fingers to dig into does Damen respond, “Only if you insist, my love.”

“Your knees,” Laurent tries to object, but his straining grip on Damen’s hips tell him this is a poor convincing for both of them. Laurent’s hand encases the head of Damen’s cock and squeezes down a pull, spurring Damen into saying a ragged ‘ _alright, yes,_ ’ and shifting to sink into him. There’s a moment of stillness, in which Damen lowers his face to sigh into the side of Laurent’s neck, and Laurent tucks his arms around Damen’s ribs, but then with an urging of Laurent’s heel on the back of Damen’s thigh they are both set in motion. 

The air around them both is warming and rolling as they entwine, Damen only capable of gritting his teeth to keep from ending it all too soon, each rough inhale filled with a thick, humid smell that is Laurent in the greenhouse; the familiar heaviness of moisture in the air is the blanket overtop their bodies. Damen can feel the pulse of each thrust where Laurent’s cock is trapped between their bellies, rubbing with the oil he put there, many small wordless exultations brushing past his ear with each of Laurent’s exhales. 

Damen smells the flowers first, and when a leaf slides softly along his cheek with the next slow push, he pulls back. Laurent’s eyes are shuttered with pleasure, his face ruddy and lax, and framed with laurel leaves, flowers, sprouting green, his skin splotchy with the beginnings of soft bark, or maybe it’s the delicate material that goes just underneath? Regardless, Damen is compelled to kiss along it, tucking his nose under Laurent’s chin and pressing his lips steadily into the changing skin down his neck. Laurent moves his hand to grasp on Damen’s ass – when had he stopped moving? – and makes a quiet, pleased sound, one that Damen has heard only a scant handful of times since they both figured themselves out and came together. He can’t believe how he ever accomplishes anything in the day with the knowledge that he belongs to this man, his heart tangled thoroughly with what he imagines are the enshrining branches sent out by Laurent’s.

Encouraged by Laurent’s desire, Damen adjusts his knees, surely bruising by now but that has simply never mattered, and drives his hips harder forward, hands coming around to grip Laurent by the hips to keep this perfect angle. He’s panting and can feel the sweat dotted across his back like dew by the time Laurent regains control of his harms to try to brace himself against something, and Damen doesn’t realise Laurent has opened his eyes until he hears him make a curious noise after another wild breath. 

The look of wonder on Laurent’s face when Damen pulls back makes him pause in his next thrust, a semi-aborted movement that forces a gasp out of Laurent but doesn’t stop him from reaching up with a pale hand to somewhere past Damen’s face and into his hair. Laurent’s smile is growing now, his chest flushed and sweaty, and Damen is about to ask what’s happening until Laurent whispers his name through his grin and plucks – 

It’s an ivy leaf, and Damen’s heart stutters or stops or maybe even bursts because something’s happening internally that makes him startle out a laugh, wrap his hands, those warm clay arms tight around Laurent’s torso and hide his face on his sternum, breathe beaming laughs into Laurent’s oiled skin. He feels Laurent’s fingers run gently through his hair and it’s incredible, the ivy he can sense creeping through his curls all his own making. Surely they must both be glowing with it, enveloped with the humid greenhouse air and craving the wet creases where they’re joined. Damen picks up his rhythm again, buoyed by the extraordinary feeling of knowing what he’s capable of, once put in the right circumstances. 

He hears Laurent laugh into the next groan, whoever’s it is, at the same time he feels the infant vines start to creep slowly down his forearms. Damen smiles back, practically blind with the velvet sensations now encompassing him, and reaches for Laurent’s hand, hoping his ivy and Laurent’s laurel might coil together in a mirror of the way he already feels their hearts doing. The rocking of their hips together feels divine; the warmth and messy slickness across their thighs, groins, the hair on their bellies and the grinding of Laurent’s cock between them, combined with the careful brushing of leaf on bloom of flowers, vine on stem – it all collides inside Damen and draws his orgasm out of him with immeasurable force. He slams his eyes closed and succumbs to the release, pushing forwards and outwards all at once, not just his come but all the unnoticed tension built up somewhere deep in his belly. 

A desperate and keening sound crawls out of Damen’s mouth before he opens his eyes again, his head cradled a little awkwardly in Laurent’s arms. He isn’t expecting the tense moan when he reaches stiffly for Laurent, and so raises his head to see Laurent’s brow become furrowed in pleasure. In his distraction, Damen inadvertently traps a stray ivy leaf between his hand and Laurent’s skin, and when it doesn’t seem to dull the sensation any to have it there, he returns to his immersion in the steady, rhythmic tightening of Laurent’s strong thighs around his hips with each stroke of his hand, and then the straining of Laurent’s neck just before he comes over Damen’s hand, their own foliage, his oil-smeared stomach. 

Laurent recovers quickly, placing a spray of kisses across the back of Damen’s hand, the one not currently collapsed next to their hips. When he looks up from Laurent’s chest, Damen initially can’t quite tell where the soil plot behind Laurent begins and ends; the combination of their laurel and ivy growth isn’t overwhelming per se, but is enough to cover the greenhouse tile, make more of a mess to sweep up. A bunch of new sprouts in the soil have also been urged into the daylight simply by their lovemaking, and it just serves to remind Damen of the immensity of Laurent’s lifelong-nurtured powers, to which the sudden addition of Damen’s newfound ones created quite the overflow of dryadic energies. 

With a smacking kiss to Laurent’s collarbone, resulting in a shocked burst of breathy, post-orgasmic laughter, Damen slides out and sits back on his heels, gathering the rumpled and disorganized draping of chiton material to try to clean up the mix of oil and come on their bodies. Laurent eyes him with what seems to be an expression of pleased yet stubborn concession.

“You distracted us from the plan,” Laurent says, brushing off the new green growth from his hair before moving down to his shoulders. Damen grins.

“I distracted us into achieving our goal,” he says, smoothing a hand up Laurent’s leg again to catch lightly on the leaves growing there, and then sighing. “Must one always remove them?”

Laurent sits up, and reaches as he did before, to touch the leaves in Damen’s hair. “If one does not wish to look like an entire shrubbery, then yes,” he says. A gentle smile crosses his face and his eyes flick over Damen entirely. “I understand, though. It’s wonderful.”

Damen can only stare with renewed blooming affection as Laurent rakes his leaves and stems and flowers into the palm plot, blond hair glistening and cheeks still flushed, and says, “Wonderful, indeed.” 

–-

**Author's Note:**

> Ivy was used to crown victorious athletes in ancient greece, apparently, but I came up with this before I learned that factoid. Thanks for reading :) I'm on tumblr at brigitttt and brigittttoo (side with writing), and also on twitter @ brigitttt_


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